these-wilde-nights

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"Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn?"

– Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

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autumn reading list

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irvine

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All the bright precious things fade so fast, and they don't come back.

– F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

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I want someone that loves me so much they're willing to go to a museum to me, even though they find them boring. I want someone that will dance with me to classical music in my bedroom, even though they're clumsy. I want someone that will mail me love letters, so I get a welcome surprise when I open the mailbox. I want someone that will let me practice my instruments and encourage me, even though I make a lot of mistakes. That's the kind of love I want.

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*lights your cigarette for you as a confession of love*

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“she lives the poetry she cannot write.”

oscar wilde

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I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.

My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay pot, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the colour you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.

But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.

I was a gifted child once. I was the golden girl. And one day, I burned out.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

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A sea foam grey life of melancholy;

And yet, you make it a little less dull and dreary

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“Promise me not to hide yourself when you’re in pain, it’s unfair that we laughed together but you cried alone”

— Unknown

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A sort of hopelessness isn't it?

Seeking love in such a souless world

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stormy weather, music, annotated books, libraries at midnight, handwritten notes, sunrises, red lipstick, messy hair, mythology, art, empty streets, coffee, writers, poets, theatre, stars, journals

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“And so being young and dipped in folly I fell in love with melancholy.”

“and all i loved, i loved alone.”

Edgar Allan Poe

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AUGUST: THE TRUE ENDING OF A YEAR

unknown / @nobodysflower / paul d'amato / mary oliver / @gaycommunist / justine kurland / @sioltach / alida nugent / raymond carver

[these-wilde-nights]

It hurts when you know what it feels like to love, but don't know what it feels like to be loved.